The Games Are On
by WhovianPotterheadSherlockian
Summary: John Watson of District 12 was very confident that he wouldn't get picked in this year's reaping. He was very, very wrong... And then completely positive he was going to die. Rated T just to be safe. Might end up being pretty bloody, I don't know. JOHNLOCK. Possible fluff. Sherlock is probably out of character, but you know. I try and therefore no one should criticize me.
1. Chapter 1

He knew he was awake, but he told himself he wasn't. He told himself he was dreaming. He told himself that he'd sleep through this day and by tomorrow it would be over.

That's what he told himself. That's not at all what happened.

John Watson laid still, trying to keep his breathing at a sleep-like level. But it wasn't long after he'd awaken that he felt another presence in the room. "Harry?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"It's me." Harriet said, walking in and sitting on the edge of the bed. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long." John opened his eyes and looked up at his little sister. "Is mum awake yet?"

"Yes. She's laying out my clothes for today. Yours are already on the back of the door."

"Why?" John grumbled. "There's no point in dressing fancy to watch one of my friends get picked for murder."

"John!" Harry hissed, clapping her hands over her own mouth. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Don't let people hear you talking like that, you'll get in huge trouble." she muttered through her fingers.

"Oh, sod it. It's not like I haven't taken punishment before." he rolled his eyes. "Go get dressed. I'll meet you out there."

Harry gave him a look of terror before standing and exiting the room. John sighed, closing his eyes again. He felt a little bad. It was only her second reaping, he shouldn't have scared her like that. It was his seventh reaping, however, and his name wasn't in the bowl very many times. Well, fifteen. He took nine tesserae this  
year, Harry taking one. They didn't need many; they weren't at all the rich part of District 12, but they weren't at all poor, either. They could just barely take care of themselves.

John stood up, ignoring the headrush he immediately received. He walked to his door and pulled it open, taking the clothes off of the back. He walked around the door and into the bathroom, filling up the tub. It was still slightly wet, so Harry had been up early this morning. He closed the door and stripped down, sitting on the edge of the tub and grabbing a washcloth, soaking it with water and soap and scrubbed at his dirty skin. It took a while, but he cleaned himself completely off and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying off. He pulled on the clothes his mother had set out for him and stepped in front of the mirror. This wasn't what he usually wore. It was fancier, probably one of his dad's old reaping day outfits. But you had to dress properly for the reaping, everyone said. To please the peacekeepers. To please the  
Capitol if you're reaped.

John knew that it was very unlikely he'd be picked. He still worried all the same, worried for Harry as well. But he reassured himself slightly with the reminder that Harry was a fighter. She looked and seemed like a little girl at first glance, but she was tough. She was strong, fast, and not too bad at martial arts. The main problem was the fact that he knew if he got picked, he didn't have a chance at survival. But what were the odds of that? Timothy Red's name was in the bowl 56 times this year. John's was only there 15 times. It was more likely Tim would be picked rather than John.

"John! Are you nearly ready?" it was his mother's voice.

"Coming, mum." John responded. He looked himself over in the mirror one more time, straightening his shirt. He ran his fingers through his hair, noting how much he looked like his dad. "Wish me luck." he whispered into the mirror, speaking to the younger version of his father. "You know I'll need it."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_I know it's been a long time since I've updated this. I'm so sorry oh my god. I have no good excuse. _

Harry's fingers brushed John's as they joined the line to sign in. They looked at each other and John saw the fear in her eyes, masking his own.

"It won't be you." John told her, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid it's going to be you." Harry told him, chewing on her lip.

This surprised John a little. Almost all they ever did was fight. All Harry ever did was win the fights. "Me? Why are you afraid for me?"

Harry watched him. "If you're not here, who will I argue with every morning?"

John smiled weakly. "Everyone knows how much fun we have with that."

Harry forced a smile. John looked forward again, chewing on his own lip. Really, all that meant was _"I'll miss you if you're reaped, because I know there's no chance you'll survive this."_

"Hand, please." John let the peacekeeper take his hand and prick it, squeezing the blood onto the paper. "Next."

John stepped away and caught Harry's eye who was in the other line. "I'll find you when it's over." he promised her. Harry nodded. She didn't look too sure, but she nodded all the same.

"John!" Someone took his arm and pulled him into a roped off area full of boys of his age.

"Hey, Mike." John said to the boy. Mike Stamford was his best friend. His only real friend.

"How many times is your name in?" Mike asked seriously.

"15. You?"

"24." Mike chewed on his lip. John squeezed his friend's shoulder reassuringly.

"There are tons of people in District 12. I'm pretty sure that out of all of us the odds are in our favour." John said. Mike nodded.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang echoing through the town square. Everyone silenced instantly, looking up at the stage. Effie Trinket jumped backwards in a foolish way, uttering a soft "Oh!" When she realised the microphone was on. She took a step forwards again and put on a huge smile. "Welcome, welcome, to the 74th annual Hunger Games, and may the odds be_ ever_ in your favour." She beamed.

There was complete silence, except for the buzzing of the microphone and Effie's loud footsteps as she walked over to the first glass ball. "Ladies first." she grinned in an unnatural way. Her hand reached into the ball.

"Not Harry, not Harry, not Harry..." John thought.

Effie pulled out a strip of paper and unfolded it. She ran back over to the microphone. "Mary Morstan."

John's eyes were wide. Mary Morstan. John had liked Mary Morstan since he was in the fourth grade. Long blonde hair, dark green eyes. She always walked with a slight bounce in her steps. She was always so happy.

As she stepped out from the crowd, there was no bounce.

She walked slowly to the steps, looking grim. Everyone knew that Mary wouldn't last long. Mary knew that Mary wouldn't last long. She walked up the steps to the microphone. Effie had her introduce herself and asked her a few questions. John tuned everything out. He couldn't take this anymore. He let Effie and Mary's voices fade to a dull drone, watching a couple of ants run around his feet. And then some words caught his attention, pulling him back to the reaping.

"And now, for the gentlemen." Effie beamed and walked over to the glass ball on the opposite side of the stage. Mary looked at the ground. John could tell she was trying not to cry.

_"It isn't me, it isn't me, it isn't me."_ John told himself. Effie's hand slipped into the glass ball and her long, pink fingernails pulled out a slip of paper. _"It isn't me, it isn't me, it isn't me."_

Effie scrambled back to the microphone again and unfolded the paper.

The little voice in John's head was practically shouting now._ "It isn't me! iT ISN'T ME! it isn't me!"_

"John Hamish Watson."

A full on wave of feelings crashed over John, and he felt immensely dizzy. He felt hundreds of eyes on him, and he suddenly realised exactly why Mary wasn't so bouncy.

Three pairs of eyes stood out, but he couldn't see two of them. The first was Mike. His eyes were wide and scared. Sorry, even.

The second was his mother. She was lost in the crowd, but John could feel her panic, and something very close to loss. She'd already been through this once when his father died, and now she'd have to go through it again. This time, though, it was on live television for the Capitol's entertainment.

The third was Harry. Fright, loss, terror. "I VOLUNTEER."

John's eyes snapped up at Harry's voice.

Effie beamed. "What was that? Who volunteers?"

Harry pushed out of the crowd. "Me. I volunteer." she said firmly, her eyes filling with tears. John tore from the crowd to see his sister. She looked so grown up, standing there with her back straight, her face showing hardly any emotion besides the tears that betrayed her.

"No!" John shouted.

Effie looked extremely flustered. "Well, isn't that sweet, dear, but I'm very sorry. We need a male and a female tribute. Unless there are any other volunteers..."

John knew there wouldn't be. He didn't hesitate to rush to the steps. As he passed his sister in the aisle, he let his fingers brush over hers for a moment. A signal that everything would be alright. Even though it was a total lie, he saw her relax slightly, the fright on her face appearing again. The whole square was silent as John walked to Effie on the stage.

"Hello there, John." Effie beamed in her sickeningly sweet way.

"He-hello." He muttered into the microphone. Effie beamed into the audience.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us about yourself, dearheart?" she asked into the microphone, grinning to District 12.

John cleared his throat, trying to bring more life into his voice. He had to be strong. For Harry. He had to be strong. "I'm 18," he said, his voice surprisingly louder, "I live with my mum and my sister."

"And that was your sister, wasn't it?" Effie asked, her unnaturally high voice making John's head start to pound.

"Yes." John nodded.

"Very good." Effie beamed. There were a few moments of awkward silence before Effie cleared her throat once more. "Well, shake hands, you two."

John turned to face Mary. She was white as a sheet, her green eyes sticking out quite well. She took the first steps towards John and John mirrored her, reaching out his right hand as she reached out her left. They took each other's hands and shook firmly.

"Nice, nice. Very sweet." Effie tittered. She stood straight in front of the audience and smiled her dazzling smile once more. "Well then, happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: I have no reason for not updating this, I am so sorry you guys. Here you go.**_** Enjoy!**

Waiting in the little room was worse than standing up on the stage. Waiting to say goodbye to his mother, to his sister. To his life, really. His heart pounded in his throat, and the tears that threatened would not come. He felt as if a million tiny cameras were focused on him and him alone in this tiny little room, recording his every breath, every movement. Listening to every beat of his heart that sounded to him like loud drums pounding in his mind.

The door burst open and Harry was wrapped around him, hugging him tight. "You can do this," she whispered fiercely. "You can win. If you try, really hard, you can win."

He could feel her tears against his shirt, just bleeding through. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll try."

"Please try," she said, not letting go. "Please. Don't ever give up."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Harry's grip loosened and she stood, reluctantly. Their mother took a step in and embraced her son.

"Good luck, John." she muttered.

"Take care of Harry, okay? Don't let anything happen to her. Don't let her take tesserae. Make sure she eats."

"Of course." she kissed both sides of his head as a peacekeeper entered.

"Time's up. Both of you out."

"Bye, mum." he gripped his mother's hand, pressing a kiss to it. "I love you."

"I-"

The peacekeeper pulled her from the room before she had a chance to say any more. Harry dug in her pocket and pulled out a ring.

"Harry, what are you doing? Go!" John hissed. "You'll get in trouble!"

"Take this. Keep it as your token from your district. Dad told me to give it to you when you turn 18, but..." she choked. She pressed the ring into John's hand. "I love you."

John held the ring tightly. "I love you too. Take care of yourself."

"Hey, I thought I told you to get out!" the peacekeeper yelled. He grabbed Harry's upper arm and dragged her from the room.

"John!" she screeched, finally snapping under the pressure. "JOHN!"

"Be careful with her!" John yelled.

The door slammed.

And he was alone again.

He clenched his jaw, the tears finally streaking silently down his face as he forced himself to open his hand. He studied the ring. It was silver, almost as if his father had found it while mining. It had one word carved gracefully into the side of the ring, in what seemed to be a different language. He couldn't tell what it meant. But he was going to keep it, as long as he lived. Which, he noted, probably wasn't going to be very much longer anyway.

He expected the train ride to be the worst, but it wasn't. Watching the clips of the other tributes being chosen helped calm him down. They were as scared as he was.

In District 1, a girl who looked about 16 with dark skin and curly brown hair was chosen. He name was Sally Donovan. She looked surprised when she was chosen, but when she was up on stage and Effie was questioning her you could see the glint of annoyance in her eyes. Her partner was a tall, 18-year-old whose last name was Anderson. John didn't bother to listen enough for his first name. He had short black hair and looked as if he were beginning to grow his first mustache. He rolled his eyes as Effie spoke.

District 2 was a tall 18-year-old named Irene Adler. She had bright green eyes and a slim figure, with hair tied back into a tight bun. She had been training for this, John could tell. The look in her eyes as she stood on stage said this clearly. At one point, John could have sworn he saw her turn and wink straight into one of the cameras. Her partner was small, he looked about 13, with mousy brown hair. John didn't catch his name, either; he was too busy watching Irene.

Districts 3, 4 and 5 all seemed pretty tough, but they didn't look too bright. Muscular builds, but ditsy brains. District 6, though... District 6 caught John's eye.

The girl was small, about 15. Long brown hair that swept over her dress that reminded John of a lab coat. Her name was Molly Hooper. He guessed she would be the first to go in the bloodbath. But the boy... He was tall, very tall, and slim. Dress pants that looked like jeans, you couldn't get jeans anywhere anymore, and a very, _very_ tight purple shirt (the buttons looked as though they were going to pop off). His curly black hair fell over his bright blueish-green eyes, which were obvious against his pale skin. He obviously didn't get out much. When his name was called, Sherlock Holmes, some mutters ran through the crowd. He didn't look frightened at all, he mostly looked as if this were the most tedious thing you could possibly have to do. A taller boy with short brown hair stumbled forward and volunteered, but was rejected (much like Harry) because he was too old to be reaped. Sherlock didn't seem to care that he was going to his death, however. He seemed pretty confident.

The other tributes didn't catch John's attention, the only others he really paid any more attention to were Sebastian Moran (aged 16, District 9), James Moriarty (who, upon reaching the microphone, said "Call me Jim, please. Pleasure to meet you." and kissed Effie Trinket's hand, making her titter some more. He looked about 17, from District 10), and Greg Lestrade (age 18, District 11.)

After watching the clips, John went back and rewatched the one where Sherlock Holmes was chosen. Why was he so interesting?

After replaying Sherlock's clip about four times, he turned the television off and put his head in his hands.

_I am going to die_, he thought, miserably.


End file.
